You sit in chairs and think "where the fuck has time went?"
You stare in wonder as you feel the keys dance underneath your fingers.
This past time of internet bloggers and online poets is mysterious, yet pure beauty.
We sit in circles tracing our fingers for the right words.
We hold you hostage baby.
Your attention is being held for ransom.
Word for word.
One liners that rival the strongest liquors.
The rum vs. the rumors.
He'd kill to for another shot.
This kid's gotta prove himself.
No more blanks in these chambers.
These guns are for real.
My hand to your head.
See you in the afterlife (writing from a grave)
No comments:
Post a Comment